The Changing of the Guard (Closed, ATTN Sondria)

[Communist Xomaniax]

SUPREME CHAIRMAN'S SUITE
PALACE OF THE PROLETARIAT
SHAMBHALA
UNION OF SOCIALIST PEOPLE'S REPUBLICS

1:00 AM MONDAY

The sound of drunken revelry and merriment resounded throughout the dining hall, men hooting and hollering at this or that, all of them having had too much to drink. The cacophony was punctuated by occasional bouts of vomiting, suggesting others had imbibed more than their fair share. Hard rains pounded on ballistic glass windows, the result of monsoon season sweeping up from the tropical southeast into the cooler northern steppe. Summer in Shambhala was cool, but wet. It seemed to rain almost every day, and rain heavily if intermittently. A heavy, oppressive humidity seemed to drape itself across the city, leaving a fine mist carpeting the streets and moisture in every crook and crevice. The vegetation seemed to burst from anywhere it could, engorged and throbbing from the constant rain and shining sun, as if it threatened to overtake civilization itself. Perhaps one day it would, but that was a long time from now.

The Palace of the Proletariat was a new construction, built a few decades after the revolution in the socialist realist style, though containing elements of the typical Rustonian opulence. It was almost impossibly large; a towering, pyramidal ziggurat that loomed over the entirety of the ancient city, no building standing even its equal. The Palace, or rather the palace complex, was big enough to house the entirety of the union federal government, though only held temporary accommodations for top government officials. Each of its suites was utterly imperial, an apartment with stunningly high walls and marble floors, ornately carved columns holding up a domed ceiling. Gilt chandeliers hung from every ceiling, itself painted with murals of various murals related to the Party or of a decidedly proletarian influence. From each wall hung ornately framed oil paintings, themselves retelling scenes from Rustonian history, either battles won or Party accomplishments.

The largest and most opulent of these apartments was the central suite, which housed the Union's supreme leader. Deep in its core, in the dining hall, a hundred men crowded around a massive, oak wood table. Polished to a sheen and decorated with gold trimming, the silver tableware seemed almost drab in comparison, while the chandelier above glittered like so many diamonds, framed centrally in its ceiling's mural so that the great glittering mass seemed almost like deification. The walls were adorned with portraits of the same family, the family of the Supreme Chairman. Every food imaginable seemed to be crowded on the table, men in shabby suits greedily grabbing at whatever tickled their fancy, and downing glass after glass of airag.

The party seemed to have every central Party official of note, from the Party Premier to union bosses to even generals. At the head of the table, seated in a rosewood and satin chair, was a man seemingly set apart from the festivities. Shriveled and pale, his face a map of crags and wrinkles obscured by a great, black beard, his back stooped and his piercing eyes focused on his steak, the man seemed ancient. He seemed concerned more with his platter, deep in thought, than with the lively guests around him. His lips curled into a pensive frown as he absent mindedly pulled a tin case from his pocket, bringing a cigarette to his lips. The smoke seemed to settle his nerves somewhat, but the man seemed to be building up to something. For the first time in his life, Supreme Chairman Saladin Kvaratskhelia seemed unsure of what he was about to do.

He rose with all the grace a centenarian could muster, and all at once the commotion abruptly ended. The men present were drunk as sin, which made them bold, but no man was bold enough to not let the one they called "the boss" speak. In a raspy voice, he spoke.

"Comrades, a weight has rested upon my shoulders for much time now. A weight I now feel compelled to relieve myself of. Perhaps the airag has gone to my head, but I feel the time to act is now." He smacked the wooden surface of the table for emphasis. The mood of the room died, replaced instead by a miasma of uncertainty. All manner of rumors had been floating around about the honorable Supreme Chairman, who was supposed to be celebrating his one hundredth birthday. Their dear leader had visibly shriveled, gone paler, and had appeared almost not at all the previous six months. To many the writing seemed on the wall: Kvaratskhelia's health was failing. Everyone knew it was coming, knew that a man, no matter how wrought from iron he was, had his end.

"I have led this great union of nations for fifty-four years now. Led it from near ruination at the hands of corruption and incompetence, from imperialist meddling, from entropy." He began, rising fully from the table and grasping at his cane, leaning on it heavily. "Our reformed Party doctrine has made Rustonia what it is today: powerful, expansive, a force of change and reckoning in Sondria. I could not have done this alone. I have watched new generations of bright, vibrant leaders emerge, seen a new crop of Party leaders demonstrate their incredible dedication to the communist cause." He walked from around the table, patting the shoulders and shaking the hands of the men he passed along the way.

"I have seen the seed of a revolution blossom into the great rose of socialism, and I can only say that I am overjoyed. Overjoyed and proud." His face contorted into a sad, soft smile, eyes twinkling as if holding back a torrent of emotion. The men assembled did their best to take this outburst in stride, Kvaratskhelia was well known for his stony persona and did not let the mask slip lightly. The Supreme Chairman sidled over to the Party Premier, a brute of a man head and shoulders taller, whose body seemed a mass of muscle layered in the fat of soft living. He embraced the man, much to his shock, embraced him as one would a brother.

"Comrade Tuvaagzhanikhan, my dear friend, I must attribute our Party's new leaf to you. You're perhaps the finest man to lead this great union after I am gone." Saladin said. He pulled his special Party membership pin from his lapel and placed it into his comrade's massive hand.

"C-comrade Kvaratskhalia, what are you suggesting?" Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan asked, the normally jovial and unflappable man stopped in his tracks. The Supreme Chairman smiled sadly and shook his counterpart's hand. He leaned back on his cane and wandered off in the direction of his personal chambers. He stopped at the precipice of the doors and turned around, stamping his cane once to gain the attention of the anxious audience. The man they called leader stood sagged, and all at once the persona of the swaggering, rough hewn people's man melted away. Before them was just a tired old man. The torrenting rain beat up against stained glass windows, streaks of lightning revealing a vast motley of color.

"Comrades, I have something I need to tell you." His sad smile faded into the frown of a man who had made peace with oblivion.

"Effective immediately, I am no longer Supreme Chairman of the Central Committee for State Affairs. I voluntarily strip myself of my honorary rank of Supreme Marshal of the Revolutionary People's Army and all my offices of government and the powers thereof. I am retired." There was an audible gasp in the room. The man that was no longer Supreme Chairman held up his hand, and all was quiet again.

"In keeping with the glorious socialist constitution of this nation, my last act of office will be to appoint Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan as Supreme Chairman of the Central Committee for State Affairs until such a time that a proper election in the All-Union People's Assembly can be held. May almighty Tengri be with you, my friend." Kvaratskhelia opened the doors to the hallway that led to his room.

"I am going to bed, comrades. It's been a long night. I would suggest you do the same. After all, you have a busy day ahead of you." There was an uproar in the dining hall as men clapped ferociously or bellowed at the news. The door shut and the men were left to themselves.

---

3:30 AM MONDAY

Kvaratskhelia drew open the heavy velvet curtains of his suite and looked down on sleeping Shambhala below, all towering concrete and obscene, gleaming neon. The city had been smaller when he'd first ascended to office, and darker too. Blackouts had been a thing of the past for fifty years now, though the fires of industry burned so brightly here that it became difficult to see the stars at night. He supposed that was a fair trade. Withered hands grasped the brass balcony railing. A light, cool drizzle slowly soaked him, his nightclothes hanging limply from his body, his signature pompadour melting into a tangle of hair clinging to his scalp. He took another swig from the bottle of wine he had been drinking from for hours now, having almost drained it. Saladin drained the rest and tossed the bottle over the balcony before heading inside, sitting down in an old leather armchair he fancied.

His wife had bought him that chair before she passed. He felt his eyes well up at the thought of her. His Samira, an angel sent down from heaven. She'd given him six beautiful children, two of which had been killed in an accident several years ago. That too hurt him, and tears fell down the old man's cheeks at their memories. At least Samira had been gone when it happened, he could not have seen her so crushed, it would have broken him. Not that it would take much to break him anymore. A few months before his doctor had discovered a tumor during a routine checkup, a tumor that proved to be cancerous. The doctor was certain: bed ridden in six months, perhaps a year or so to live. Perhaps that had been the catalyst for his retirement. The thought had never crossed his mind prior, he fully intended to die in office. But having faced the prospects of a real, final end, his resolve to lead had wavered. Still, Saladin supposed he had done a good job. That was enough.

After much time Kvaratskhelia found his prize: an ornate wooden box. Trembling hands clumsily opened it to reveal a glass vial containing two capsules. Saladin stood up from the desk and went to his wardrobe, changing out of sodden nightclothes in favor of his favorite uniform. Olive drab, with epaulets showing the red star and wheat wreath befitting the rank of Supreme Marshal, a black beret placed neatly upon a head of expertly combed hair, a beard shaved away and leaving only a thick moustache. Polished leather jackboots strode over to the mirror and for a brief moment the honorable Supreme Chairman seemed to have regained some sense of splendor. He picked the vial up out of the box and poured himself a glass of brandy, then strode over to record player he kept near his bed, putting on an old revolution-era collection of patriotic songs he was quite fond of.

Finally at peace, Saladin Kvaratskhelia opened the vial up and placed the capsules on his tongue. In one swallow he finished the glass of brandy and settled into his chair, hands upon his lap as he seemed to drift off to sleep. Moments passed and his breathing stilled. The dear leader was no more.

---

CENTRAL SUITE
PALACE OF THE PROLETARIAT
SHAMBHALA
UNION OF SOCIALIST PEOPLE'S REPUBLICS

1:00 PM MONDAY

What a massive fucking shit in my lap. Supreme Chairman Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan thought, bloodshot eyes looking down the body of the former Chairman. The man had died in his sleep, and it didn't look natural. A few of the Central Security Directorate agents he could trust the most combed over the room, looking through every speck of dust and item in the room for evidence on exactly what happened. Ologhai frowned. He'd known for some time that Saladin had cancer, that he was on his way out. Hell, everybody Party official in the capital knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. A man of his age just doesn't live much longer. But still, nothing could have prepared him for this. He kicked himself mentally. The signs were there, it was his fault he hadn't seen them.

The decision on what to do rested on him. That was a weight he wasn't used to carrying, and it felt like it might crush him. Finally, the lead agent approached him with a salute.

"Comrade Supreme Chairman, I do not believe this was a murder. It was-"

"Don't you dare fucking say it." Ologhai snapped. "Not now, not ever. Tell a soul and I'll cut your fucking tongue out myself."

The agent's eyes went wide and he saluted again, more crisply this time.

"I understand, comrade Supreme Chairman! I will make sure the coroner knows that comrade Kvaratskhelia passed away peacefully in his sleep."

"Very good then," Ologhai responded. "Get on with it, then. You're dismissed."

"Sir!"

The men shuffled out, leaving Ologhai alone with his old friend. The Supreme Chairman sat on his counterpart's bed in silence, weighing his options. He pulled a cellphone from his pocket and dialed the first number.

"Hello?" Answered Baalthaazaar Kolkovili, the old Minister of Foreign Affairs. The two of them hadn't ever exactly been the best of friends, but he'd heard that Nergal had taken the news of his ascension to the Chairmanship especially hard. That made him happy.

"Good afternoon, Kolkovili. I need you to send out a special missive to the region. Comrade Kvaratskhelia's dead, looks like he passed away in his sleep last night. Tell the nations of Sondria that we'll be making a major announcement tomorrow. You understand?"

"Yes, comrade Supreme Chairman. I understand." Ologhai suppressed a giggle at the bile that seemed to fill his counterpart's tone.

"Oh and Kolkovili, one more thing. Keep the news of my new position, and the death of our leader, under wraps. Keep the missive vague, but make sure it carries weight."

"Yes, comra-" Ologhai ended the call before Kolkovili could finish. He made several dozen more phone calls after that, handing out orders to one official or the next, all of which he made swear to secrecy. All across Sondria the shock waves from this would be felt, the situation had to be handled delicately. Goddammit, they needed more time! In an hour or so Kolkovili would send out a private telegram to Sondria's leaders notifying them that something big would happen. At the same time, the All-Union News Agency and the Rose of Shambhala would broadcast and print a message along similar lines: keep calm, carry on with your lives, await important information. Ologhai bit his lip.

He just hoped this would all go smoothly.

---

4:00 PM MONDAY

TO: The Nations of Sondria
FROM: Minister of Foreign Affairs Baalthazaar Kolkovili, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Union of Socialist People's Republics
Regarding: Special Announcement
Encryption: Maximum

Official Communique of the Socialist Republic of Rustonia

Freedom and Democracy, Unity and Socialism

At exactly 12:00 AM Central Shambhala Time, the Union of Socialist People's Republic's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, in conjunction with the All-Union Central News Agency and the [i]Rose of Shambhala newspaper will make a major announcement regarding the political affairs of the Union. The announcement will also detail the status of communism in Rustonia and the future of the region as a whole. Details cannot be provided at this moment, but rest assured a new era is dawning. Be prepared.

[/i]

With all due respect and sincerity,

Baalthaazaar Kolkovili
Minister of Foreign Affairs
Ministry of Foreign Affairs

[The City of Elysia]

Office of the First Consul
The Crystal Tower

Central District, the City of Elysia

Chloe Tychterion sighed as she looked out over the city as the sun was slowly rising. The view from her office, on the top floor of the Crystal Tower, the building housing most of Elysia's government, was unparalleled. In front of her, the vast skyline of the spires and towers of the business districts of the City proper eventually gave way to the lower buildings of the more residential districts, and the countryside of the Province beyond. If she were to turn around to her left, she would gaze upon the mountains that harboured the city-state towards the continent, and if she turned to her right, she would look down upon the bustling port that had made Elysia so wealthy. Three hundred years ago, she mused, refugees from a faraway land had come across this natural harbour, and decided to make it their own. They had built this city as a bastion of liberty, democracy, and commerce, and it had attracted new settlers from across the region.

And now, they had made her, a young woman of only twenty-five years, their leader. She smiled as she sat down behind the monumental desk that graced her office. Sat there, flanked by the blue-black-gold flag of the City, she would have felt completely out of place just two months ago, when her young party, the Alliance for Freedom, had defied all predictions and taken a landslide victory in the latest election to the Citizens' Assembly. But that had been then. In record time, the AF had ironed out a coalition deal with Elysian Liberty Party, the oldest party in the city, assembled a cabinet, and introduced vital reforms to reverse the restrictions the previous government had placed on the economy of the City.

Still smiling, the First Consul pressed the button for the intercom on her desk. "Miss Suminen," she said, addressing her secretary outside her office, "could you please notify the Second Consul that I wish to speak with him at his earliest convenience?" "Of course, madam," Suminen replied. "Anything else I can do for you?" "No, that would be all for the moment, thank you." Chloe closed the intercom channel and booted up her computer. Time to get to work.

Several hours later....

Cabinet meeting room
The Crystal Tower

Central District, the City of Elysia

"...we expect definitive results by the end of the quarter." With a snap, Nicole Fischer, deputy leader of the AF and Finance Secretary of the City, closed her folder and sat down again. "Thank you Nicole," Chloe said, nodding at her colleague. "If nobody has anything to add, this meeting is concluded. Don't forget that the Assembly is back in session on Wednesday and it seems the Communists have something planned for the occasion. We have people trying to find out what exactly they have in store, I'll update you as soon as I have anything."

Just as everyone began to rise, the meeting room's door flew open, and in stepped one of the under-secretaries of the International Affairs Office, a bald little man whose name Chloe could never remember. Briskly, he walked over to the First Consul, and thrust a piece of paper in her hand. "We just received this message, relayed through the Rustonian Embassy. Thought this might be important." With a sigh, Chloe read the message, before waving over the International Secretary and the Defence Secretary. The little under-secretary might just have been right.

Office of the First Consul
The Crystal Tower

Central District, the City of Elysia

"So it is confirmed then?" Chloe looked at Commodore Sykes, head of Elysia's Public Security and Integrity Command, or PSICOM, the agency responsible for both internal and external intelligence. Sykes shook his head. "Not fully, ma'am. All we know is that a medical team was dispatched to the palace a few hours ago, and since then, there's been frenetic movement all over the place. The Government are obviously trying to maintain an air of calmness, but it's obvious something is up. Personally, I believe the old man might have finally kicked the bucket. I mean, he just turned 100, and there's been plenty indications that his health has been failing."

Chloe nodded slowly as Sykes nervously straightened his uniform. The weathered officer clearly still hadn't gotten used to her being in charge. "Well, we shall soon know what's going on. I agree with your assessment, though, Commodore. Have we got any idea who the most likely successor would be?" The Commodore nodded. "Guy called Ologhai Tuvaag..." He frowned. "Sorry, I can never remember these weird names these Rustonians seem to have. He's the Party Premier, anyway. My money would be on him." The First Consul nodded again. "Right. Send me all the info we have on the man, then. And get his name into your head, I have a feeling he might be mentioned more often in future."

[Crontor]

Hellas;
Imperial Federation of Crontor;
Administrative District of Crontor;
Columbia Province;
Vienna:

The sun hung low over Vienna, the statues of the Federal Plaza casting long shadows in the evening light. Aside from armed patrols of the Federal Military Police and their working dogs, eagerly searching out any scent of contraband or dangerous material, the Federal Plaza was desolate. In prior years, the Federal Plaza was the beating heart of the city and of the Imperial Federation as a whole. Families, tourists and government workers, representing all of the federal Ministries that lined the block, intermingled freely, enjoying the greenery, statues, and fountains while sharing drinks and ice cream. The early days of President Carter’s administration saw an end to happy memories on the Federal Plaza. An attack carried out by the Beblian Democratic Liberation Front, the bane of the Imperial Federation’s security establishment, ripped a hole in the population’s perception of a safe and secure existence on the mainland.

President Norman Carter, still in his first week in office, watched the horror unfold from the Crontorian Federal Building, the seat of Crontorian executive power. Hundreds of dead and dying lay strewn across the Plaza, the screams of the dying echoing off the black glass fronts of the federal ministries lining the plaza. Directly facing the Federal Building, the ominous and imposing black glass superstructure of the Crontorian Military Pyramid provided a backdrop to the lick of flames spreading across the formerly pristine landscape and the searchlights of helicopters.

The response was ruthless. The Crontorian Armed Forces and Ministry of State Security enacted violent crackdowns in Beblis, curtailed travel to the Administrative District, and instituted blackouts of all media coverage in the territory. Years later, Beblis still lived under the iron grip of the Crontorian security forces, with security considerably tighter than even a security obsessed state like the Imperial Federation would typically institute. As for the Federal Plaza, the space was revitalized and repaired, but the aura of the area had changed too much. Now, the Federal Plaza formed the centerpiece of a Security Exclusion Zone accessible only to government officials and escorted foreign dignitaries. Checkpoints and armored vehicles replaced families and ice cream stands. Still, the statues remained, a continued embodiment to the strong leaders of Crontorian history and the military victories they were known for.

Years later, President Carter looked out over the same Federal Plaza and wondered if his statue would someday grace the grounds. Unfortunately, he felt that the chance was fleeting. The Imperial Federation was entering challenging times. True to its title, Crontor had expanded almost beyond its limits. Far flung territories were protected by military and security services and administered by an ever growing bureaucracy that was soaking up the material wealth of the state’s economy. In a sense, the state, the economy, and the bureaucracy overseeing Crontor’s empire were collapsing under their own weight.

President Carter was desperate to find a solution. He had initiated early reforms to scale back the overseas presence and responsibilities of the Crontorian Armed Forces, limiting basing and protection duties to Crontorian territories and economic zones. Jagis, a war-torn territory abandoned by the international community and rebuilt with Crontorian funding and toil, was on its way to nominal independence, a marked change in Crontorian empire building. But pressure from the luminaries of the Crontorian empire’s building phase, primarily former President Cranico and Supreme Commander Rockepeller, forced President Carter’s hand in the seizure of the Midlands and meddled in the transition to independent government in Jagis so that it more closely resembled the integration of the territory into the Imperial Federation.

The trajectory of the state was unsustainable and President Carter knew it. But he refused to be the leader that lost the glory of the Imperial Federation. Instead, he needed to manage the decline, mask the collapse, and if possible, retrench the Imperial Federation for prolonged relevance on the world stage. A state the size of the Imperial Federation would never cease to be relevant in Sondria, but the perception of Crontor by the ever-power-hungry states of Sondria could change quickly. The Imperial Federation needed allies to hold back the tide of interventionist liberal governments eager to bring open democracy and hyper-capitalism to the Imperial Federation.

For President Carter, the communique from Rustonia represented a potential wrench in Crontor’s long term planning. The Rustonian Foreign Ministry was set to make an announcement, one that they billed as major. For a notoriously insular state, coming declarations about political changes with regional implications came as surprising and concerning. The news spooked the Rustonian analysts at the Central Intelligence Service enough that Director Joseph Croqueac was arrived to brief President Carter before the President had even finished reading the short communique. Rumors had persisted about Supreme Chairman Kvaratskhelia’s health, but the Rustonian analysts were waiting for further confirmation.

As the sun set, President Carter thought deeply about the possibilities before him. It seemed as if the fate of the region hung in the balance.

[Gristol-Serkonos]

West Block Inner Courtyard
Western Departmental Building, Populue Palati Grounds
Government District, Rien-Stadt, C.D.R.

MCEs, officers and officials of the Rieshistagi filled the West Block inner courtyard as it became the temporary home of the Consei-Estadi for the next ten years. The Centre Block of the Palace is in the process of being renovated, with the Consei-Estadi and the Senate being moved on the west and east blocks in the grounds. It is the first seating of the 32nd Imperial Government led by Ruben Stenburg. An election is underway to elect the new Lord High Speaker after the popular Avi Victorsson announced his retirement from politics. There are two runner ups, one is Vieno Saari from the Progressive Conservatives, a veteran MCE for Serkonos's 25th District. The second candidate is Henrike Byström from the Social Democrats, another long-time MCE from Nathanii's 10th District. Both candidates belong from the moderate wings of their respective parties, Stenburg noted.

It had been an unusual year for Gristol-Serkonan politics. A nail in the coffin for the Progressive Conservatives was first struck when corruption scandals in the defence procurement process and the infrastructure projects came to light. Another was the previous Lord High Chancellor, Cynthia Valtorum, had a strained relations with the Diarchy following her plans for a change in the constitution to further slim down the powers of the two monarchs. A contentious section of the Q4 Fiscal Year 2018 fractured the Progressive Conservative caucus, causing the defeat the Budget Bill. From there, Valtorum resigned as a vote of non-confidence brought down her majority government after the party is in power for eight years.

The resulting elections sent the Social Democrats, led by Ruben Stenburg, to power. While technically a minority, they attained the plurality of the Upper and Lower chambers of the Rieshistagi. They were further propped up by their allies in the Moderate Left, the Democratic Socialists, and the Greens. While no formal coalition was formed, the three parties will support the government. The Progressive Conservatives meanwhile were viciously defeated in the elections, with other right wing parties gaining points at the cost PC seats and votes. Despite being leaderless, the former majority still managed to retain half of their numbers before the election. Since their defeat, they selected Peter De Cloet, a young backbencher as their interim leader with a leadership convention planned in the next few months.

Laughter from the opposition seats caught Stenburg's attention as one of deputy directors of the Imperial Office of State Affairs brought him a file and to Arnout Van Oirschot, his Foreign Affairs Minister. "We received a message from the Rustonian embassy, something's coming up on their state media." Raising his eyebrow, Stenburg motioned for his Foreign Affairs and Defence ministers to follow him into the reception room for the government side of the chamber.

"Section 6 got anything new on Rustonia?" Stenburg inquired to his Defence Minister. "Rustonians have sent all nations this message." he passed the file to his defence minister.
"This certainly wasn't in briefings I've had with the Chief of Intelligence." Catina Negrescu, the defence minister shook her head. "We are meeting again this afternoon though."

Just as the defence minister finished her response, a military officer entered the reception room. Nylund, the air force warrant officer's last name according to his name badge, gave a folder to Negrescu. "Message from Overwatch, ma'am." the NCO spoke, "Lord High Chancellor, Minister." he nodded at the two other parliamentarians before leaving the reception room. Opening the folder, Negrescu read the file from Overwatch. Frowning slightly at the Lord High Chancellor and her cabinet colleague, she passed the folder to Stenburg. As Stenburg read the file, Negrescu spoke to Van Oirschot "Well, looks like we have something coming up in Rustonia. NI-6 reports that a medical team was sent to the government palace this morning." she approached the water cooler and went for a cup of water. In disbelief, Van Oirschot leaned over to the file Stenburg is reading. "This sure is an interesting change in events in Rustonia." the Lord High Chancellor passed the folder to his foreign affairs minister and took a seat in front of him. “You think Kvaratskhelia kicked the bucket?" he asked Van Oirschot.

"The old fellow? Hmm. When I served as High Commissioner for our Embassy in Rustonia four years ago, he seemed in great health. A tad unusual though." the middle-aged Van Oirschot mused, closing the folder with one hand while rubbing the back of his neck with his other. "Then again, that was four years ago so there may have--" Van Oirschot was interrupted when the Government Leader of the Consei-Estadi entered the reception room. "Sorry to interrupt, the deputy speaker has called for the vote."
"Well, off to the chamber we go." Negrescu disposed of the paper cup to the recycling bin and retrieved the folder from Van Oirschot. "Perhaps I can arrange for the Chief of Intelligence to meet us in after the session?"
"You do that. Ready your embassy staff in Rustonia, Arnout." Stenburg stood up from the reclining chair, "I suspect they will be busy."

The trio entered the chamber already in the middle of voting. After half an hour, two officials entered the room carrying the results of the vote. At the seat of the Speaker sat the Lord Deputy Speaker, who stood up as the rest of the chamber fell silent. "Sergeant-at-Arms, Chief Magistrate of the Consei-Estadi." the Lord Deputy Speaker spoke. "What are the results of the election?" The Chief Magistrate unfolded a file as he spoke "I bring forth results of the election for the Lord High Speaker of the Consei-Estadi." he paused. "Among 810 members voting, 517 votes has been cast to the Honourable Vieno Saari and 292 votes were cast to the Honourable Henrike Byström."

The chamber rose to thunderous applause as Ruben Stenburg and Peter De Cloet approached the newly elected Lord High Speaker. Practicing tradition, Saari feigned reluctance as Stenburg and De Cloet, along with several other MCEs around him, pushed and dragged him to the seat of the Speaker.

As Saari begun his acceptance speech, Stenburg sat on his chair in the chamber. He fell silent as it dawned on him that he is leading the Sovereign Empire into the region's most dynamic times.

[Onekawa-Nukanor]

Sondria
Ngati Onekawa-Nukanoa
Royal Residence
Evening

The heat from the rooms large fireplace was like a welcoming embrace from a long time friend. Even though heat pumps and other temperature control methods had become more in vogue, Toa Onekawa had always preferred the natural warmth offered by a wood fire. He even, despite his advancing years, refused to have his servants chop the wood or stack the pile for his private room. Without the work involved the fire wasn't ever quite as sweet, as quite as therapeutically relaxing as it could be. But ever year was harder than the last, and even he admitted that would be something he would have to give up on sooner rather than later. Even now he felt a dull ache in his shoulders as he leaned back in his chair, his feet licked by the flames tender warmth.

In some ways Toa felt like the last representative of a quickly disappearing era. The time of Giants, when men much like himself, from Yuri in Marquesan and Rockepeller in Crontor had stalked the planet as great predators, competing for the regions spoils in their own unique ways. It didn't seem that long ago when Yuri and Toa had took a blood oath. But the Shogunate was dead, another proud monarchy brought down by the mewling masses demanding more and more say in government. Rockepeller and Cranico were wizened old men and to be honest Toa Onekawa was hardly far from being in a similar situation himself. And as he gazed down at the missive in his hand, passed to him silently by one of his security team earlier, than another old man may very well have been put to pasture.

Well not quite, but the consulate had a robust information network as all consulates have, a function just as important as establishing diplomatic relations. The reporting was clear, a medical team had been moved with all haste into palace that housed the leader of a true heathen entity. A socialist edifice that under better circumstances would be torn down. But although the medical team could've been for any number of reasons, the writing seemed to be on the wall. Kvaratskhelia had crossed the century line and it didn't take a trained operative to devise that such a man had finally passed on into whatever non-existent afterlife his tumour of a nation spoute. Regardless of his own misgiving his face still crunched in concentration as he pondered the consquences of a possible death. Change, big change would result. For all his faults Kvaratskhelia had been a steady hand, a replacement might very well not be that at all.

This in conjunction with the official government announcement was a concern, but until confirmation this was just speculation. Well reasoned, but ultimately guess work. But as he settled into his favorite chair for the evening he was sure it was all he would dream about.

[Communist Xomaniax]

POLITBURO MEETING CHAMBER
PALACE OF THE PROLETARIAT
SHAMBHALA
UNION OF SOCIALIST PEOPLE'S REPUBLICS

"Does anyone know why we were summoned?" The mewling, watery voice of Baalthaazaar Kolkovili rang out, breaking the quiet of the room. The thirty most powerful men in Rustonia shuffled uncomfortably in their overstuffed chairs, fidgeting with papers or conversing with themselves. The morning after that fateful get together had proved to be quite a hangover, both metaphorically and literally. Most of the assembled had drank or ate far into excess, and all remembered what had happened. Their Saladin, a man with a will of iron, had announced his retirement and died a few short hours after. Rumors circulated, though none dare air them so publicly. Free country though it was, a wrong move might spell disaster for one's career.

Temur Sherpa, Commissar-General of the Central Security Directorate, watched with narrowed eyes as events unfolded. He dabbed his bald forehead with a silk handkerchief let his gaze fall over the fat foreign affairs minister. Greasy shit must be sweating bullets now. He thought. For years, decades even, Saladin had been waffling on the topic of succession. The man was a hero to the Rustonian people and whoever he supported would inevitably be the next Chairman. Poor little Baal had bagged the wrong horse, hoping that another peace monger would fill the rank. Temur smirked. Ologhai and Saladin had always shared a somewhat close relationships. He suppressed a laugh. More rumors, more scandal. Both of the men had wives and children, nobody dared speak that rumor.

Still, things had worked out, despite his personal distaste. Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan was chosen to fill the remaining portion of Kvaratskhelia's term, until the Party could convene to elect another. It didn't matter, they'd elect him. Nobody would dare go against the so called Iron Comrade. A bull of a man, he'd grown a layer of fat over his muscle in his old age, though his grandfatherly smile and jolly disposition did nothing to hide the cold fury in his eyes. The new Supreme Chairman was an old school type, falling in line with the national communist bloc instead of the peacenik rose socialists. A brutish peasant through and through, he came from a little no name village in the frozen north and cut his teeth as a commissar in the ground forces before becoming a local Party secretary. He'd risen through the ranks quick, and there never seemed to be a war he didn't support or a purge he didn't think was necessary. Yes, Ologhai was just bellicose enough to push Rustonia into the right direction.

The antique redwood door opened and heavy soled shoes clacked across the marble floor. The man himself arrived to a score of rapturous applause, perhaps a quarter of it sincere. Temur's own clapping was sincere. He and the big man were boon companions, and compatriots in the crafting of a new order to boot. With a wave of a pudgy hand he silenced them, and took his seat at the head of the table. An awkward, pregnant pause filled the room. The sight of a different man in that chair was unusual. It was as if at any moment Kvaratskhelia would come strutting through that door, tea in hand, yelling about god know's what. But the old boss was dead, sad as that was. He listened closely for what the new boss had to say.

"Greetings, comrades. I have called together this emergency session of the Political Bureau of the All Union League of Communist Parties to discuss the future of this great union in the face of the death of its beloved Supreme Chairman." Ologhai explained, the stenographer clacking away at her typewriter.

"In the wake of such a great man's death, Rustonia faces a raging storm of issues. I believe we must present a single, united front in the face of foreign imperialist aggression, and that it must be made clear that no change in leadership will weaken us. In that vein I believe it is pertinent that the Politburo host an emergency vote for the Chairmanship." So that was it, then. That was why they were here. Ologhai wanted the Chairmanship now, and wanted the vote done before his eyes to ensure a smooth transition of power. The Party Congress wouldn't meet for another six months, he didn't want that kind of uncertainty hanging over his head. Anything could happen.

"All in favor of an emergency vote for the position of Supreme Chairman?" There was a collective murmur of "aye" and hands raised. Perhaps twenty-five men voted in favor.

"Very well then, let the records show that a vote in the positive was cast. Does anyone wish to nominate a candidate to the Supreme Chairmanship?" He asked. This was meant as a rhetorical question. The position was assuredly his. Still, a pudgy, clammy raised to the air. Visible shock could be seen upon the faces of dozens of men. This was not the determined outcome.

"I would like to nominate myself." Baalthaazaar Kolkovili said, rising from the table and puffing out his chest. I guess the bastard found his balls after all. Temur thought. Ologhai stared him down with those icy eyes of his and the other man almost managed not to wilt.

"All in favor of the candidacy of Foreign Affairs Minister Nergal Kolkovili?" Ologhai asked, bored. There were a few murmurs of support, though quickly a deafening silence took over the room.

"Let the records show that Baalthazaar Kolkovili was not accepted as a candidate. Shall I assume that I am to be elected by the emergency powers of the Politburo to the Supreme Chairmanship?" Another moment of deafening silence.

"Let the records show that on this day I, Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan, was elected Supreme Chairman of the Central State Affairs Commitee of the Union of Socialist People's Republics, to fulfill the remaining portion of the late Saladin Kvaratshkelia's term and then a five year term of my own. Are there any pertinent issues any of the esteemed members of the Politburo would like to raise before this session is adjourned?" He asked. Little Baal sank slowly back into his seat, his face that of a man trying against all odds to hold back tears. It was an open secret that the minister desired the Chairmanship more than anything, and hated Ologhai perhaps just as much. A hand was raised.

Bogbaataar Aukatsang, the Vice Minister of the Foreign Affairs Ministry, spoke up. "What of Saladin's death? How should we go about announcing it?"

"Put out a short communique praising Saladin for all he achieved as Supreme Chairman and announcing his passing early this morning. He died from a heart attack related to psychological stress and overwork. Please also use the communique to announce my ascension to the Chairmanship. Invite the leaders of Sondria to attend a state funeral held for Saladin Kvaratkskhelia in two weeks' time." Ologhai turned to face Nergal.

"As my second act as Supreme Chairman I would like to announce the retirement of Baalthaazaar Kolkovili from the office of Foreign Affairs Minister. He is instead to be reassigned as ambassador to the Imperial Federation of Crontor effective immediately. The Vice Chairman, Bogbaataar Aukatsang, is to replace him, also effective immediately This meeting is adjourned." Ologhai stood and rapturous applause filled the air, even as the former Foreign Affairs Minister began to slink away, head hung low in shame. Temur nodded to himself. Things were going according to plan.

---

TO: The Nations of Sondria
FROM: Minister of Foreign Affairs Baalthazaar Kolkovili, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Union of Socialist People's Republics
Regarding: Special Announcement
Encryption: Maximum

Official Communique of the Socialist Republic of Rustonia

Freedom and Democracy, Unity and Socialism

In 1964, Saladin Kvaratskhelia was elected to the Supreme Chairmanship of the Union of Socialist People's Republics. The nation was, at the time, facing tremendous hardships caused by bourgeois imperialist aggression abroad and economic uncertainty at home. Under the enlightened and democratic stewardship of the Supreme Chairman, the following five decades were an unparalleled age of prosperity and success, the likes of which Sondria had never seen. Under Saladin Kvaratskhelia, international proletarian socialism was saved and nurtured until it could blossom into the brilliant sunflower of freedom the Union has become today.

Regretfully, all great men must one day rest. On this day at 3:30 AM, Saladin Kvaratskhelia collapsed at his desk, having committed yet another long night of intense work and study for the good of the nation. He would not arise, despite the best efforts of Sondria's greatest doctors, who had been brought from Shambhala Central Hospital to the Palace of the Proletariat. A day of mourning has been declared in the Union, with all flags having been lowered to half mast in honor of the death of the greatest thinker and leader of the twentieth and first decade of the twenty-first centuries. The government of the Socialist People's Republics would ask that, as a show of solidarity with Rustonia in these difficult times, her brother-nations would do the same.

As per Party doctrine, Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan, formerly Premier of the All Union League of Communist Parties, has been democratically elected to the office of the Supreme Chairmanship by majority vote in the Political Bureau. He is to be recognized as the current Supreme Chairman and all the honors and duties associated with are to be bestowed upon him. It is his most sincere request that the esteemed leaders of all the nations of Sondria would attend the funeral of Saladin Kvaratkshelia at 9:00 AM two weeks from now, to properly and honorably lay to rest the greatest leader in Sondrian history.

Delegations from the nations of Sondria will be expected to arrive punctually and behave appropriately, and will be, along with select members of the foreign press, afforded the rare honor of being present to the special session of the League of Communist Parties' Congress called forth to elect new positions for the suddenly vacant seat of Party Premier. This special election will be held the day after the funeral.

With all due respect and sincerity,

Bogbaataar Aukatsang
Minister of Foreign Affairs
Ministry of Foreign Affairs

[The City of Elysia]

Chloe Tychterion's Flat

Central District, The City of Elysia

With an audible groan, Chloe threw the door shut behind her as she threw her coat over a chair by the door, and slipped off her shoes. She glanced at her smartwatch - 0250hrs. Yet another seemingly endless day was finally at an end. Yawning, she quickly undressed, threw her clothes onto the growing heap of laundry waiting for her attention, and fell onto the bed.

"DING-DONG". Nonono. "Leave me alone," Chloe quietly moaned as she turned around, pretending not to hear the doorbell. "DING-DONG DING-DONG-DING-DONG"". Sluggishly, she peeled herself out from under the duvet and reached for the bathrobe she always kept next to the bed - except it wasn't there. Great. She glance at her watch on the bedside table. 0525. Just about two and a half hours would have to be enough sleep, it seemed. "DING-DONG-DING-DONG". Whoever was at the door was incessant, she had to give them that. But the times when she could open the door naked without having to worry were, sadly, over - she was, after all, a "respectable" person. After a few seconds of rummaging through the pile of clothes in her bedroom, she threw on a simple blue dress and went out to the hallway and to the door.

"This better be important", she snapped, as she opened the door. Looking at her was the wrinkled, stubbled face of Edward Henley, leader of the Elysian Liberty Party and Second Consul of the Grand Republic, her permanent deputy. Henley, himself impeccably turned out, dressed in his usual black pinstripe suit and bowler hat, looked as if he was going to say something about the dishevelled state of the First Consul, but obviously thought better of it as he thrust a piece of paper into Chloe's hand. "Really sorry to wake you, but yes, it is. This message was received by the International Affairs Office not half an hour ago."

Without a word, Chloe turned around and walked into the flat, beckoning Henley to follow him. Sitting down at her table, she fumbled for one of the three pairs of glasses she had placed in strategic places around the flat, and quickly read the note. After a few moments, she slowly put it down and looked at Henley over the rim of her glasses. "So PSICOM was right. Kvaratskhelia really is dead." The Second Consul nodded. "So it seems. I was sent a dossier on this Ologhai Tuva-whateveritwas yesterday evening, I assume that was on your orders? He seems like a man not to be trifled with."

The First Consul sighed. "Yeah, I asked Sykes to put together that dossier and send it to you, me, Felicia, Jordan and Brewer." She shook her head. "Kvaratskhelia's death and Tuvaagzhanikhan's succession were expected to come eventually, but we're not quite ready for this." Decisively, she got up. "Call a meeting of the Security Council, urgently. 0700, my office." She chuckled. "Now get out of here. I need a shower, and a coffee."

Office of the First Consul
The Crystal Tower

Central District, the City of Elysia

0700hrs

By now, the sun had risen over the city, and its citizens were slowly waking up. Chloe certainly presented a different image, having gotten herself cleaned up and now dressed in a smart, knee-length black dress. She was pacing up and down her office, as she often did when she was nervous - and barefoot, as she always was at home and in her office. The Security Council of the Grand Republic of the City of Elysia was sitting around the meeting table in her office, some of them looking as if they had literally just woken up, others as if they had not even been to bed. They were all reading the copies of the message from Rustonia or browsing the dossiers that had been put in front of them by Chloe's personal secretary, who, too, had been woken far earlier than she had wished for. Still pacing, Chloe looked at the assembled members of her government.

Edward Henley, of course, was there again, as was Commodore Sykes, head of PSICOM. Next to them was Louis Jordan, deputy leader of the Elysian Liberty Party and Domestic Affairs Secretary. Chloe had always had the greatest respect for Jordan, who had overcome the fact that he was in a wheelchair, to become one of the most popular politicians of the City - and with his sharp mind, he had also become one of the First Consul's most trusted advisors outside her own party. On the other side of the table was Andrew Brewer, ELP, Secretary for Defence and Security of the Grand Republic, next to International Affairs Secretary Felicia Aquilaine, one of the three deputy leaders of Chloe's Alliance for Freedom. It was Aquilaine who ultimately broke the silence.

"It's fairly obvious that Chloe will have to go." The rest of the council murmured in agreement. "This could be an opportunity. Get to know more about this Ologhai, what his plans may be, so we can better prepare for them." Henley nodded. "I concur with Secretary Aquilaine." He turned to Sykes. "However, we will need to ensure the security of the First Consul on the trip." The commodore immediately pulled out another folder and passed it to Henley. "Already done, sir. Here's a full travel itinerary and security arrangements for the trip to Shambhala. I can have a copy sent to each of you within the hour."

Standing at the head of the table, Chloe nodded gravely. "Do that, Commodore. I would also ask you to accompany me in person, along with Secretary Aquilaine. Also, Secretary Jordan, please ensure that our Royal Rustonian friends are kept updated, and assure them that the Grand Republic will continue to guarantee their safety as long as they remain within the City." Finally, she walked over to her desk. "Unless anyone has anything to add, this meeting is concluded. Communication confirming our attendance at Chairman Kvaratskhalia's funeral will be sent out over the course of the morning. Provided there is no further breaking news, the day's business shall continue as scheduled. All official institutions of the Grand Republic will be instructed to fly half-mast or pennants of mourning wherever appropriate." She sat down and booted up her computer. "Let's get on with the day's business. I'll see you at the cabinet briefing at 1430 as usual."

To
Mr Bogbataar Aukatsang,
Minister for Foreign Affairs

Ministry of Foreign Affairs
Shambhala
Rustonia

---

Esteemed Mr Aukatsang,

it is with great sadness that the government of the Grand Republic of the City of Elysia welcomes news of the passing of the honoured Supreme Chairman, Mr Saladin Kvaratskhelia. The Supreme Chairman was a truly respected statesman, and we are certain that the international community will miss his wisdom and experience for years to come.

At the same time, however, we congratulate Mr Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan on his election as Mr Kvarathskhelia's successor, and we are looking forward to continuing the constructive and cordial relationship our two nations have enjoyed over the past years. We are certain that Chairman Tuvaagzhanikhan will follow the example set by his late predecessor and lead the great nation of Rustonia fairly and wisely.

In commemoration and respect to the late Chairman Kvaratskhelia, all official institutions in the Great Republic have been instructed to fly their flags at half-mast for three days and on the day of the late Chairman's funeral, or, where this is not possible, to display pennants of mourning alongside their flags. Private individuals and businesses in the Great Republic have been encouraged to follow this example.

Lastly, it pleases us to confirm that the First Consul, the Right Honourable Ms Chloe Tychterion, will be attending the late Chairman's funeral, accompanied by the Secretary for International Affairs, the Honourable Ms Felicia Aquilaine. To ensure their security and to deepen the relationship between our two great nations' security services, Consul Tychterion and Secretary Aquilaine will be accompanied by Commodore Thomas Skykes, head of the Public Security and Intelligence Command.

Please confirm accommodation arrangements for our delegation at your earliest convenience.

With greatest respect and condolences,

Chloe Tychterion
First Consul of the Grand Republic
Of the City of Elysia

[Onekawa-Nukanor]

Sondria
Ngati Onekawa-Nukanoa
Royal Residence
Evening

"And...... SHOOT" yelled out the range master as another clay disk went flying across the back lawn. A following BOOM followed by the call resulted in clay pieces going fly as it took the full impact from the handcrafted weapon. It had taken Onekawan craftsmen a whole year to get t right, but now the shotgun was a true work of art, and took a prized place in the collection of Toa Onekawa and he loved to take him shooting. Around him his advisers applauded the difficult shot and clapped at his prowess, the arc of the clay had been awkward to shoot from the angle and they knew better than to falsely flatter him and make sure their praise is honest.

It had been a good day for shooting, but he called off the range master and gathered his things whilst his advisers quietly waited for him. Although he enjoyed it this hadn't just been for the purpose of indulging in some fun but to get some good footage for the public. the citizens of Onekawa-Nukunoa liked to see that their leader (despite his advancing years) was in many ways one didn't want to mess with. It is why he still worked out regularly (plus it helped to keep him alive) and continue to martial arts skill (he had never been especially gifted and especially now he was fairly poor, but he enjoyed it). All thesse things helped to demonstrate why he was King, why he and his family led such a great nation. It was because they perhaps best represented Onekawa-Nukunoa.

But as he pumped him stiff fingers a few times a messenger and made small talk with his advisers a message came rushed into him. He took a moment from congratulating Henare of his daughters graduating University and looked down. "Is the Foreign Minister busy at this moment?" he queried the messenger, a women who looked in her early 30's "Yes Your Majesty, he has cleared his schedule to speak with you, would you like to meet?"

He pondered for a few moments at the report, the n nodded and waved her away as he called over some of the younger range hands to properly take care of his shotgun. He smiled at the reverence (although he could also see hesitation and fear) and then made his way towards his officer inside the Palace, his Royal Korowai (flax cloak) flapping in the faint breeze.

----

"So do you wish me to attend?" asked Minister Maia, a long-time foreign service offical who had served all over the region. He looked suprisingly soft and thought that lose a few kilos might do her good, but no one ever dared say hatt0 her directly. He had a legendary temper outside of the diplomatic negotiating room and there was a litany of destroyed careers and ruined lives for people who had tempted her ire earlier in her career. These now served as a stark waring against crossing her.

"How strong a message of "grief" should we send? Me and you both know that we can't been seen breaking up over the death of a true enemy of Royalism" Toa answere back as they talked in his offical office, Minister Maia sitting across from his table whilst her aide stood nearby. "Regardless of who he was, at least he was steady and relatively peaceful. He pushed the communist agenda from time to time but we was generally reliable and not too harsh" responded Maia. Whilst she was a dedicated Royalist, he lived in a word of pragmatism and didn't share her King excessive hatred for Rustonia "so it would be good if I went. The Ambassador would be too junior for this kind of deal, especially not since it'll likely have other leaders there"

Toa leaned back as he took this in, pondering what to do. He despised Rustonia as an entity, but despite the old Royal Family being in Onekawa-Nukunoa he was in no immediate position to change it beyond full scale nuclear exchange. Perhaps in the future Rustonia would be a glorious Monarchy once again, but no opportunity was really present. "I can agree to that, perhaps..." a thought crossed his mind "maybe I should go with you?"

"You want to attend the funeral?" Maia asked, her eyebrows raised in surprise "Of course, if I go i can interact with the other leaders with full authority, and send a message of putting us above their petty politics and recognise a steady hand" Toa continued "plus, it has been many years since I went to a diplomatic conference, I would like to attend one more". Maia simply nodded her agreement.

"Then we must start to pack our bags, we will leave sooner rather than later!" surprisingly cheerful, at least to her ears.

[Communist Xomaniax]

Shambhala International Airport
Shambhala
Union of Socialist People's Republics

The sun struggled to shine through fat, lazy clouds, momentary breaks through the dreary overcast. Tenzin Geymutsang, who was the Party official in charge of the welcoming committee for the soon-to-be assembled leaders, frowned at the thought of the upcoming festivities. Many of the region's top officials would descend upon Shambhala like so many vultures, bellies rumbling at the thought of an easy kill. He hated them all, as he believed all good communists should, and took no small pleasure in the knowledge that they would be forced to walk on eggshells here, in the belly of the red beast that they so thoroughly feared.

Still, Tenzin had a duty to perform. He was to make the capitalist swine of Sondria feel welcome and, more importantly, to keep them in the right places. He supposed it would be a bit like herding cats. These folk would not be used to being told what to do, and he himself did not have the authority to do so. All the while he would need to maintain a mask of friendliness and ease, and convince them to proceed to the hotel without causing any further trouble. All flights in and out of the city had been grounded for twenty-four hours in preparation and would remain so for the rest of the day. That was more than enough for these scum.

Comrade Tenzin Geymutsang checked the time on his cheap watch. He had wished to wear his fancier silver one, though the new Boss had made it clear that this was a "dress down" sort of event. He wore his official uniform, including the puffy hat, though he did his best to polish the black leather loafers to a mirror-like sheen. At exactly nine thirty in the morning, the first of the many jets could be heard, and shortly after seen on the horizon. It was time. He breathed deeply and prepared to receive his esteemed guests.

Where the planes were to arrive was set up a series of ornate red and gold carpets, as well as the 56th People's Army Orchestra, who would play a series of patriotic and Party songs as part of the welcoming party. Beautiful, busty women dressed in form-fitting Party uniforms, each of them handpicked from Shambhala's many modeling collectives and intended to make the leaders look shorter than they were, would hand them a bouquet of sunflowers and roses, as well as a copy of the Party's manifesto and an itinerary. They would then place a floral crown on their heads, at which point they and Tenzin would pose for a photograph and usher them into a waiting armored limo that would take them and their entourage to the hotel.

The plane landed. Tenzin stood up straight and smiled. It was show time.

---

Central Ballroom
Palace of the Proletariat
Shambhala
Union of Socialist Republics

Unlike so many other communist regimes, the Rustonians had no love for meek austerity or patience for simplicity. The Communist Party had, especially under Tuvaagzhanikhan, pioneered a concept called "proletarian opulence". Rather than to revel in plainness, Party doctrine suggested instead that it was the duty of a successful socialist state to provide the greatest amount of luxury and pleasure to the proletariat. "Every man a king", or so the saying went.

Perhaps it was this ballroom that most greatly exemplified proletarian excellence. Golden granite floors polished nearly to excess glittered with the reflections of the colossal diamond and crystal chandelier that hung overhead. The domed ceiling was decorated with a mural of socialist realist art that dwarfed even the chandelier, the people within ten times the size of even the largest human being. Ornate stone pillars held the ceiling aloft, each one carved into the shape of a square-jawed worker or soldier with one hand held up as if they held the world up on their own.

On one end the ballroom was a multi-leveled stage, itself made from purplewood, large enough to host a dozen orchestras. Behind it, covering nearly the whole wall, was another mural of incredible size. It depicted the Union's founder, Temujin Uge, holding aloft a blazing torch that cast away the darkness, a ring of workers with rifles surrounding him, bayonets stabbing and demonic capitalist caricatures. A hundred oakwood tables lined the ballroom, yet still did not fill even half of the room. Beyond even that was several more tables, each being prepared by a hurrying staff in the hundreds, daring to gaze up from time to time at the man who seemed to be eyeing them like a hawk.

Ologhai Tuvaagzhanikhan watched over the folk preparing the party. He intended for it to be a blowout, complete with a massive orchestra and enough pomp and circumstance to impress even the hardened hearts of the bourgeois capitalist-imperialist rats that would soon be infesting it. Besides the leaders and their entourage, hundreds of Party and Revolutionary People's Army officials would be present, including the new Party premier and the young Commissar-General of the Red Guard, Urukhai Aukatsang, who the Chairman believed had a future in Party politics.

Ologhai pulled his watch from his pocket and checked the time. Nine hours until things began.